


Sanctuary

by xammx



Category: DCU (Comics), Joker (2019)
Genre: Clowns, Domestic Violence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Fuck the rich, Fucking, Gun Violence, Joker (DCU) Angst, Love, Madness, Mental Breakdown, Partners in Crime, Protective Arthur, Romance, Thomas Wayne can suck a whole dick, Violence, personal assistant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2020-12-20 22:09:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21063971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xammx/pseuds/xammx
Summary: *REWRITTEN AND UPDATED*You meet Arthur Fleck, bruised and bloodied, in the bathroom of a Wayne Foundation Gala.He doesn’t belong there, but neither do you.Working as Thomas Wayne’s personal assistant is excruciating, especially when he’s physical with you, and you were nearing your breaking point...Maybe the thing Arthur was missing was a partner in crime?





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Although the scene between Thomas and Arthur in the film took place during a Chaplin movie screening, I decided to change the event into a charity gala for storytelling purposes.
> 
> *Contains Spoilers*

It’s an unfortunate fact of life that the more you have, the more you want. That’s just how appetites work. Excess leads to insatiability. And whatever is true for humankind is doubled for the wealthy. 

Standing in the crowd, you listened closely to the idle chatter buzzing about the Wayne Foundation Benefit Gala. Beneath the expensive champagne toasts, the casual flirting, the backstabbing, the manipulating and one-upping, what everyone was really talking about was simple; who, in Gotham City, has more? Money, companies, sex, homes, horses, charity, respect - anything and everything. 

And no one had more of everything than Thomas Wayne. He made sure of it. 

He stood with his wife on one side and his assistant on the other, waxing lyrical about his plans as the next mayor of Gotham City, seeing as he was winning in the latest election polls by a landslide. 

It took everything in you not to vomit right then and there. 

It wasn’t your preferred job, but it paid the bills and kept you secured, and that’s all you could ask for. Gotham’s economy had plummeted over the past few years, leaving many in poverty and struggle. You were one of the luckier ones, and you knew that. You didn’t take that for granted. 

You took another swig of your champagne. 

_ Smile, laugh & look pretty. _

You felt like you had repeated that mantra a million times that evening and frankly, it was time for a break. 

“Excuse me, I’m just going to use the restroom.” You whispered to Thomas, using the sotto voce you’d perfected over the years you had worked for him. If there was anything Thomas Wayne hated, it was the help being _too _vocal.

“I was just about to do the same.”

He placed a hand on your backside, a little too low, and your eyes shot immediately over to Martha, who stood next to her husband grinning and oblivious. And just as any good assistant does, you swallowed your revulsion and smiled sweetly. 

_ Prick. _

You walked as quickly as you could through the crowd in your heels, up the carpeted staircase of Gotham’s Metropolitan Museum and into the ladies’ room. 

You stood in front of the mirror, staring unblinkingly until your eyes were sore and rimmed-red. Had you always sleepwalked your way through life? Was it all just a matter of smiling, laughing and looking pretty?

_ I just want to feel something that isn’t hatred. I just want to feel something. _

And then you heard it. A laugh. A hysterical howl mixed between laughter and crying. The echo of it travelling through the walls and to accompany it, the sound of a punch landing with devastating force. 

Arthur leaned over the bathroom sink as the blood gushed out of his nose with no sign of abating. He spat out some of the blood that had trickled into his mouth and coughed violently. Pinching the bridge of his nose in pain, he watched as the deep red droplets streaked and stained the white porcelain.

_ The rich are all the same. Evil. Selfish. Cruel. _

He turned to look at the door when the sound of heels clicking on marble caught his attention. A woman, whose eyes were staring at him. 

You observed the injured man in front of you. He was tall, disheveled, wan and pale; with long unkempt brown hair, green eyes and a permanently melancholy face. 

You could guess correctly that his bloodied face was the result of Thomas’ anger. Moments before, you had caught sight of him just as he stormed out of the men’s room and past you, furiously mumbling curses to himself and rubbing his bruised knuckles. You rounded the corner from the ladies' room and entered the men’s. 

“You poor thing. Just- don’t move, okay?” 

He stood there, hands by his sides, and said nothing. 

You reached for one of the washcloths folded neatly by the sink. Wetting it under warm water, you motioned for the stranger to follow and sit beside you on the couch, to which he tentatively did. You reached for his face.

“May I?”

He nodded. 

With gentle strokes, You cleaned the blood off his face, his nose swollen from the punch but not broken. Arthur didn’t speak or move, he just watched as the stranger in front of him tended to his wounds with such care and gentleness. He couldn’t recall the last time someone had been so tender with him, not even his own mother. He took a good look at you. 

You were beautiful. Your hair shiny, eyes gleaming. You wore heels and a form-fitted black gown, more expensive than anything Arthur could afford in his lifetime. You were dressed like someone who wouldn’t bother giving someone like him the time of day, let alone wipe the blood off his face in the bathroom of a charity gala. His eyes briefly admired your exposed legs before your soft voice spoke up to break the silence.

“Thomas Wayne is an asshole.”

He nodded again at your statement.

You pressed him again. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

“I _can_ talk if you’d like.”

His voice was soft, bright, and he spoke with a grin as if he was suppressing a giggle. 

Now you were the one nodding. 

“I’m Arthur. Sometimes I forget to introduce myself properly.”

_ Arthur. _

“It’s very nice to meet you, Arthur.”

“How do you know him?” Arthur asked. 

“Thomas?” You swallowed, “I’m his personal assistant.” 

His smile disappeared. 

“You work for him?”

“The past five years. He gave me a job as his PA when I graduated. He knew my father very well and he owed him a favor.” 

“You’re nothing like them.”

You lowered the towel from his face and looked at him quizzically. 

“_Them?” _

“The Thomas Wayne’s of Gotham. The rich who only care about getting richer. You dress like them but you’re nothing like them. You’re kind. And warm.”

For the first time that evening, you smiled genuinely. 

“Seeing as you’re not a fan of that crowd, I have to say I’m a bit surprised you chose to attend a gala for the Wayne Foundation.”

“I snuck in, actually. I needed to meet him! To tell him something...important. But he didn’t listen. They never do.”

_ No, _you thought, _ they really don’t. _

He was, without a doubt, the strangest man you’d ever met. But there was something about him. Something safe, Something different. And you preferred his company over any of the attendees in the building that night. 

Before you could stop yourself, you reached to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear.

“I’d like to see you again, Arthur.”

He stared back at you, stunned. 

“Why?”

If you were being honest, you weren't sure why. You felt sorry for him, but you also couldn't fight the fact that he intrigued you more than anyone you had ever met while living in Gotham.

“I don’t know. But there's something about you.”

You reached into your hand bag and pulled out a small white business card with delicate black printing, handing it to him.

"I should go. Call me sometime?" Then you rose and left the room, heels clicking the same way they did when you first walked in. 

Arthur held the card up in the light. 

_Office of Thomas Wayne_

_ 555-0121 _

_ Wayne Enterprises Inc. _

_ Gotham City _


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of Sexual Assault

Arthur had thoroughly prepared what he was going to say to you. 

He would sound interested, but not too eager. He’d play it cool, maybe compliment you, then ask you to attend his comedy show that evening. Maybe you’d laugh at his jokes. Maybe the two of you would grab a bite to eat afterwards.

Maybe he’d even kiss you. 

_They're not even going to answer. Arthur, get a grip. _

He stood in the phone booth, swallowing through the dryness of his throat and stared at the scratched payphone numbers. Eventually, he lifted the receiver off of its metal perch and forced a coin into the slot. 

555-0121.

Then he listened as it began to ring. Once. Twice. Three times. 

_I told you so. I told you so. I told yo-_

“You've reached the office of Thomas Wayne at Gotham Tower. ” 

Arthur froze momentarily at the sound of your voice, then jumped, heart racing when he realized he wasn’t imagining it. That it wasn’t a pre-recorded message on an answering machine. It was really you. Excitement grabbed him like two fists, one throttling his throat, the other smashing into his stomach. He opened his mouth to speak, to begin the monologue he had spent his entire morning rehearsing over and over and over, but no words came out. 

“...Arthur?”

You waited a long moment, hoping the person on the other end would confirm your assumption, but you were met with silence. You reached to thumb the End Call button on the machine when you heard a distant voice speak up. 

“Yes, it is.” 

You sat up again. 

“Well, it took you long enough...Christ.” You joked with faked exasperation. Arthur allowed himself a small chuckle. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. I-“ _ I didn’t know what to say. I never know what to say. I’ve never done this before. “- _was thinking you could come to my show tonight? I understand if you have other things to do and-“ 

“I’d love to.” 

_ What? _

“You would? That’s...amazing. It’s a comedy show. I’m a comedian, actually. Well, I’m trying to be.” 

“I love comedy shows. I can’t wait. When and where?” 

You listened and scribbled down the details he gave you on a notepad that sat on your desk. 

“I’ll see you tonight then.” You beamed and hung up the phone. 

**~**

“You’re hilarious, you know that?” You laughed as you picked at your pizza slice. 

The two of you strolled down 47th street, just a few blocks south from Pogo’s, the comedy club where Arthur had performed that night. You had done the majority of the laughing in the crowd, but Arthur didn’t care. You thought he was funny. And that was all that mattered to him. 

"Thank you. My material, I think...it needs some work." He admitted sheepishly, his hands dug into his pockets as he walked alongside you. 

You watched him - head down as he walked, posture stooped, completely disheartened and insecure. You recalled all the things he had told you earlier that evening; about his job downtown as a party clown, his relationship with his ailing mother, his dreams of being a comedian, about wanting to make people laugh and smile. He was genuine when he spoke, and meant well, unlike many others in Gotham. The world didn't deserve someone like him. He deserved a happy story, not the shitty one he was on the receiving end of. For a moment, you wished there was something you could do to make it all better. 

"I liked the joke about crazy people getting through the forest-" You began to laugh before you could get to the end of the punchline. 

"They take the psycho-path." Arthur chuckled, finishing it. 

You both slowed your walking when you approached a newsstand, copies of the Gotham Gazette hung all around like a canopy. 

You eyed the cover of the paper, the images of three Wayne Industries employees who were murdered on the subway in cold blood stared back. 

"I want to feel sorry for them. But I don't." You paused, and asked the next question as if to yourself. "Am I fucked up for not feeling anything?"

Arthur shook his head at you. "Sometimes it's better not to feel anything. No one can hurt you."

_"Say thank you, sweetheart."_

_You stood there, frozen, you vision blurring rapidly as tears continued to well up in your eyes. You felt like screaming, but even screaming as loud as humanly possible wouldn't have been enough to express how you felt. The anger that seared within you, it was incomprehensible. His palm, which had been cradling your cheek, came away from your face, only to return with a loud and hard SMACK! _

_ "I said-" _

_ "Thank you, Thomas." You choked back on the bile rising in your throat. _

_ "That's better."_

"Did I say something wrong?" Arthur's concerned voice brought you back to the present. You became once again aware of the evening chill, the sounds of the city, the smell of the garbage piling up on the streets; of Arthur at your side. You shook your head, tossing out the rest of your pizza slice into a nearby trashcan. 

"Have you ever wanted to give the people who hurt you what they deserve?"

He didn't have to ponder her question very long. 

"Yes."

You looked up into his eyes, and unlike your voice there was no sullenness held there, or anger. 

Arthur suddenly looked at you differently. 

You had been hurt. By whom, he wasn't sure, but he knew it made him feel that familiar feeling he'd become so used to suppressing. The eruption of anger and rage he had learned to control. He wanted to defend you; needed to defend you from whatever it was that was causing you to hurt. For he knew better than anyone what that was like. 

"Have you ever shot a gun?"


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Italics indicate flashback as well your's & Arthur's thought processes, please let me know if it's ever unclear. x

_ “I’ll need you to stay late tonight.” _

_You kept your head down, not giving him a chance to see your eyes. _

_ “Yes, Sir. Anything else?” _

_ It was quick, the way he grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back so you were now looking at him. He was _ _ smiling amid his heavy breathing at the wide-eyed look of shock and fear on your face. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from quivering your lip. _

_ Don’t show him weakness. That’s what fuels him. _

_ “Look at me when I speak to you, Sweetheart.” _

_ It hadn’t always been like this. Thomas had once been respectful, professional, somewhat caring when you first started working for him. The violence began roughly a year or so into the job, and it didn’t stop. _

_Your father and Thomas had been close acquaintances in college. When he had died and left you alone without any close relatives, Thomas had trusted you enough to give you a position in his company; a job that got you out of student loan debt and kept you from losing your apartment. You were thankful for Thomas and the Wayne’s for their generosity, but now it had only become a cruel burden. _

_You wished you knew what changed in him. Or maybe it was possible he had always been like this. Extreme. Violent. Aggressive. Maybe he realized you had nobody else and nothing else, and like every wealthy man in Gotham, he could do as he pleased with no consequences. He could grab, pull, touch, hit, choke all he wanted. Because he knew you'd let him. _

_You knew better than to cry. So you didn’t. You simply smiled. _

_ Just how he liked it. _

_ “Yes, Thomas.” _

**~**

“Get on the fucking ground.”

You held the gun up in front of you, both hands clasped tightly around the handle. Right arm held out straight, the left slightly bent so that it pulled the gun back toward your body. You had never used a gun before, but you held it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Please. Don’t do it.” Arthur implored, holding his hands up in surrender as he stood defenseless in his own living room. He had no one to call out to - not with his mother in the hospital. There was no one to help him. He was alone. 

“On your knees. Now.” You hissed through gritted teeth, cocking the gun. Following your demands, Arthur knelt down on the ground as you inched forward, pressing the barrel of the gun against his forehead.

You pulled the trigger. 

_ Clink! _

The ghost of a smile that had curved your lips upwards suddenly turned into a grin, which became even broader as you watched Arthur’s expression go from feigned terror to dark amusement. You began to laugh, throwing your head back and giving full vent to the sound that had become so alien to you over the past few years. Arthur smiled so wide it made his cheeks sore. He loved hearing you laugh, it was like music in his ears. 

“I haven’t felt like that in forever! That was so fun.”

He watched your expression as you fiddled with the empty gun, familiarizing yourself with the handling, chamber and trigger. You looked powerful. More powerful than you did earlier that evening on your date. 

_ Date. _

He liked you. At first, it was because you were so nice to him. Not many people were, and also because you shared his sense of humor. Around you, Arthur smiled genuinely. Around you, the thoughts weren’t as negative. 

His expression suddenly became serious. 

“Have you ever shot someone?” He asked. Your eyes met his. You shook your head.

“Would you?” He asked again.

“No.” You lied smoothly. “Have you?” 

_ I have. I killed those three men on the subway. But they deserved it. _

_ They all deserve it. _

“No.” He said. 

You reached over and grabbed a single bullet from the coffee table, opening the chamber and loading it. 

“Have you ever played Russian Roulette?” 

He remained still. You spun the cylinder and snapped the gun back, then held it out to Arthur. 

“Shoot me.” 

He froze. _ Not you. You’re good. You are not like them. _

“What? No. I can’t... I can’t do that. I’ll kill you.” 

“Or the chamber will be empty and I’ll live. It’s a game of chance. ” 

_ No! _

“I...can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Fine.” You snatched the gun away from him and held it up to your head, pressing the barrel to your temple. “I’ll do it myself.” 

“STOP!” 

_ Gunshot. Brain splatter. Blood. So. Much. Blood. Decorating his walls like an abstract painting. Your lifeless body falling to the floor. The sound of his panicked breathing. Oh god. A final blow to his already broken spirit. The only person who gave him a chance. The only one who listened. No one ever fucking listens. But you did. And now you were gone. And now... fuck. The tickle in his throat. And suddenly he was laughing. A loud, piercing cackle that contorts his face from the pain. His hand covers his mouth in an effort to suppress it, but it just makes things worse. It’s ear shatteringly loud. Laughter. He’s sobbing violently, almost wailing...but it sounds like laughter. _

_ It always sounds like laughter. _

**BAM**

Your eyes shot wide open, vision still blurry from having them shut so tightly. Arthur;s stared back at you, frightened - then angry. 

The ringing in your ears followed after the loud crack of the gun firing into the ceiling, pieces of drywall raining down on you. You could feel the bruises forming underneath Arthur’s grip on your wrist. He was holding your arm high above your head, the gun pointed up and still hot in your hand. He was breathing furiously, almost out of control.

“Why would you do that?” He whispered angrily. He took the gun from you hand and threw it across the room. 

“Arthur, I-”

“Why would you do that?” He repeated, this time louder and more livid than before. 

“I’m sorry.” You uttered, near tears. Your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might burst through you chest.

How stupid. How fucking stupid. If he didn't move your arm away you'd be dead this very moment. All because you wanted to play games. All because you wanted to feel something. 

“You must think I’m crazy.” 

He said nothing. 

Once you caught your breath you slowly sat down on the couch, staring vacantly into space as Arthur lit and smoked a cigarette. At some point he sat down beside you. 

You both remained silent for a while. When he did speak, his voice was almost hollow. 

“There’s nothing wrong with being crazy.” He said, more so to himself than to you. “It’s everyone else who has a problem with it.” 

You took a slow breath in. “I lied when you asked if I wanted to shoot someone.”

He didn't move. “I know.”

Arthur finished his cigarette, ashing it out in the tray on the table. Then he looked at you and prepared himself for the worst.

“I lied when I said I didn't."

You froze. _Run._

That's exactly what you should've done. Ran away from him and never came back.

"I killed those men on the subway."

_Get out NOW._

"I killed two in self-defense and the third because I wanted to."

_LEAVE._

"And I've never felt more alive in my life."

_RUN._

But you didn't.

You stayed. 

Then, you began to giggle. 


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Lots of spoilers in this chapter, if you haven't seen the film, I recommend bookmarking! (Also it wouldn't make much sense)

Arthur recalled the first time he ever kissed anyone. 

He was around 9 years old when he met Marcie Thompson. She had bright red hair that she always wore up in pigtails, with matching blue bows on each side. Arthur would often place himself by his bedroom window, watching as Marcie played in the parkette across the alley with other kids in the neighborhood. He wanted nothing more than to be apart of their fun. 

Despite his constant pleading, Penny Fleck rarely allowed her son outside. She had home schooled Arthur, never being able to stand the idea of someone hurting or bullying her son. She knew how horrible people could be. How they would treat someone like him. Someone who was different. So she kept him sheltered to protect him. 

_ “Happy, those kids are not your friends. They will hurt you.” _

He respected his mother’s wishes, until the day Arthur quietly slipped out of the apartment and went to the park on his own. Marcie Thompson let him play with her, despite his lack of social skills and the fact that he didn’t speak much. She even held his hand as they went down the slide together. Then she kissed him, an innocent peck between children. But that innocent peck had brought beatings upon Arthur, first by Marcie’s older brother after witnessing his sister kiss the weird home schooled boy, and the second by Arthur’s mother, when he returned home after he had disobeyed her orders. 

Arthur didn’t kiss many people after that. 

Except for you of course. 

Every part of you tasted like sugar. Every part of you was warm and soft to the touch. You taught Arthur exactly where to kiss, bite, scratch, suck. He memorized the curve of your spine and the uneven rhythms of your walls as they tightened around him when you orgasmed. He was awkward, and unsure of what he was doing, but he was good at following the orders you gave him. The first time he made you come you had bitten him, drawing blood from his shoulder with your teeth as you rode out your climax. It hurt, but Arthur was too deep in the act to care. Besides, it didn’t hurt as bad as some of the unwanted abuse he’d received in his life. This pain was different. This pain was good. 

Your face was a twisted mix of emotions; pleasure, euphoria and something else he couldn’t pinpoint. At first, the faces and sounds alarmed him, but you were quick to reassure him that he made you feel good. So fucking good. 

He replayed his own release, more intense than any hand job he’d ever given himself, the way he laughed out loud as he came, except he didn’t try to suppress it as usual. 

He loved fucking. Or was it making love? He barely knew you, was it love? He loved the way his name sounded coming out of your mouth when you moaned. He loved that you stayed after he told you about the subway slayings. He loved that you didn’t care. He loved how sweetly you laughed when you found out, and how you kissed him instead of running from him. And he really, really loved fucking. 

He didn’t keep count of how many times he brought you over the edge, but you finally collapsed at one point, spent and sated, before falling into a deep sleep next to each other. 

He awoke before you the next morning and watched you, admiring the unseen halo of warmth around your body as you slept soundly near him. He could swear you were smiling in your sleep. _Smiley._

_ Smiley and Happy._

You barely stirred when the phone rang. You let Arthur get up to answer it. You listened half-awake as he let the caller know they had dialed the wrong number and hung up. Eyes fluttering open, you gazed at the clock on his bedside table, your heart dropping to your gut when you read the time. 

** _8:47 AM._ **

“Oh fuck!” 

Whipping the bed sheets off your body, you tossed your legs over the side of the bed and let your feet meet the cold floor, waking you up instantly. 

Late. You were so fucking late. 

You dressed hastily in the outfit from the night before, cursing under your breath as you adjusted your hosiery and now-wrinkled dress in the boudoir mirror. You hadn’t noticed Arthur’s return to the bedroom, his lanky figure looming in the doorway. 

“You’re leaving?” His voice was lowered to a near whisper. 

“I was supposed to be in Thomas’ office almost an hour ago. He has a seriously important meeting today. He’s gonna kill me.” You wrapped your scarf twice around your neck and looped the end, tightening it.

“Why do you work for someone like him?”

“Arthur, please-”

“He treats people like garbage. He’s horrible and selfish and-”

“I know who he is, Arthur!” You snapped.

You didn’t mean to raise your voice at him. You didn’t want to fight him, but deep down you knew he was right.

“I _know_ what kind of man he is. But this job pays me well and I’d like to think that I’m good at it and one day I’ll quit but today is not that day. Okay?”

Taking a breath and keeping your head down, you pushed past him into the living room and grabbed you bag off the table. You knew he was scolding you, but you refused to look at him. You slid into your shoes, careful not to send yourself tumbling over. 

“I’ll call you later. I’m sorry.”

You took the latch off the door and unlocked it, shutting it behind you as you left his apartment. 

Arthur pulled his hand back and punched the wall. Then he did it again. And again. Until the sharp pain in his fist became a dull ache and the skin on his knuckles began to tear. Then he stopped and did the breathing exercises his social worker taught him. Breath in on five-count, hold for six counts and exhale on five. 

Then he smiled widely and held it for sixty counts. 

**~**

Thomas wasn’t at his desk when you entered his office. You were breathing heavily, part exertion from rushing across the city to get to work and part fear of what Thomas would do when you did finally show. You went over the schedule for the day in your head. Thomas was most likely still in his meeting with Dr. Soloman from Wayne Pharmaceuticals, which accounted for his absence in the office. You pondered if you had enough time to grab a coffee before heading in to take note. 

You instantly stilled when you heard the door shut behind you with a resounding click. 

“Where were you?”

His voice was lethally cold. You began organizing papers on his desk in an attempt to seem like he had caught you in the midst of a task, and also to avoid having to turn around and meet his eyes just yet. 

“Thomas, Good Morning. I apologize for my tardiness, I was feeling under the weather and stopped by the clinic before coming in.”

“Sit down.”

You swallowed but there was no saliva in your mouth. You took a seat in one of the brown leather chairs opposite his desk and kept your thighs pressed closely together.

“Do you know of the opera _ Mefistofele _?” He asked. You shook your head. 

“Words, Sweetheart.”

You steadied your breathing as best as you could. 

“No Sir. No, I’m not familiar with Mefistofele.”

“A man sells his soul to the devil in order to receive all of the world’s knowledge, power and pleasure. It’s an interesting premise, don’t you agree?” He stepped behind you and placed a firm hand on your shoulder. He made his way to your neck, playing with your hair, massaging the nape, gently taking hold and wrapping some around his fist.

“Martha, Bruce and I will be attending it next Thursday evening at the opera house. We’d like you to arrange the tickets.”

“Yes, Thomas.” You said, the lump in your throat growing so large you thought you might choke. 

“Make sure you add a fourth ticket. I would like you to join us.” 

You didn't hesitate.

“Absolutely. I would be honored.”

He chuckled. 

“One other thing, my dear-”

He wrenched your head back sharply as he stared down into your face, his lips pulled back in a ferocious scowl, his eyes cold. You yelped at the sudden movement of your neck, searing pain immediately forming. 

“Where were you last night?”

“I was home! I-”

“Don’t lie to me, Sweetheart. You are clothed exactly as you were yesterday. Your hair is tousled and you have smudged charcoal under your eyes- which says to me that you awoke this morning in a bed that was not your own.”

“Thomas, please-”

“Who are you fucking?”

“No one!”

"Do you think I pay you and take care of you so you can go and whore yourself out? Do you think I need my assistant sleeping around the office like some cheap harlot?"

"No, Thomas!"

“What game are you trying to play with me?”

You didn’t answer that. Mostly because you didn’t have any more to say to him. It was none of his fucking business who you were seeing. You were not his lover. Nor his puppet. For the longest time, you had been terrified of this side of him. But now, it just seemed so pathetic. You imagined Arthur’s gun in your hands, the nozzle shoved into Thomas’ mouth as he cowered beneath you, begging with his eyes to be spared.

Before you could stop yourself, a snort of laughter left your nose. 

“Is something funny?” 

You continued to laugh, quietly at first, like it was some private joke only you knew about. Then the laughter got louder and louder and the tears began to run down your cheeks as you gasped for breath. 

_ Smile, laugh and look pretty...Is this pretty enough for you, Mr. Wayne? _

Twisting your chair around to face him, Thomas dealt you a vicious backhand across the face, sending you reeling. You fell heavily on the ground and curled into a defensive huddle as he stood over you, holding himself back. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he retrieved his money clip and threw a few hundred dollar bills beside your body, stepping over you and heading back towards the door. 

“I’ll be back from my lunch meeting at two. I expect you to be cleaned up and dressed appropriately.”

He left the office, slamming the door loudly behind him. 

You could taste blood in your mouth, the skin on you lip torn from your teeth dragging across it. Your cheek was burning. You were burning from the inside out. You stayed down, a tickle in your throat forming. 

As an image formed in your mind, you started to giggle.

**~**

Arkham State Hospital was just outside Gotham, a mere train ride away for Arthur. As he sat back on the bench of the train car, eyes closed, his thoughts drifted into daydreaming. He recalled the phone conversation he had that morning with Shirley Woods, the entertainment booker for Murray Franklin, just after you had left his apartment. 

“_Murray would love to have you on the show to talk to you..maybe do some of your act? Does that sound good to you? _ ” _ Shirley asked him brightly. Arthur took a drag of his cigarette. _

“Yeah, that sounds good.” He replied before hanging up. 

_ Live! With Murray Franklin. It was only his lifelong dream..._

He had to begin preparing his act. But first, he had something he needed to take care of. 

He needed to know the truth. 

He needed to prove the scumbag Thomas Wayne wrong. 

**~**

“The .22 caliber pistol, It’s an everyday carry, no recoil, perfect for new shooters.” 

“I’ll take it. How much?” You asked the short bearded man who stood behind what passed for a counter. You had never been to a pawn shop before and you were amazed at what interesting things people could pawn for money.

You negotiated a price and paid in cash.

“You’re not gonna kill no one, are ya?” He said in a comical tone, popping his chewing gum loudly as he placed the gun into a paper bag. You chuckled, shaking your head at him before taking your purchase and exiting the shop. 

**~**

Frail as she was, Arthur was surprised at how fiercely Penny tried to push the pillow away. It couldn’t have been more than a minute, but to Arthur, it seemed an eternity before her emaciated hands finally relaxed and fell limp on the coverlet. 

_ A liar. _

_ Just like everyone else. _

_ Ha! Ha ha ha!_

The ECG machine was sent into a monotone flat line, but to Arthur it was melodious. 

He danced his way out of the hospital. 


	5. Five

_ I'm wild again, beguiled again _

_ A simpering, whimpering child again _

_ Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I _

You stood facing your kitchen counter chopping vegetables, humming along to the sound of Frank Sinatra's voice singing on the radio, your hips swaying. Arthur watched you, his expression soft. You were so handy with the knife it was almost like a dance itself. 

The two of you had gone grocery shopping together, taking turns pushing the cart while trying to decide on a dish to cook. You fooled around like schoolchildren, Arthur gliding the trolley down the aisles while you sat inside, your squeals of joy infectious and bright. You had gotten a few dirty looks from strangers, but none of that mattered. Arthur couldn’t recall the last time he enjoyed himself like that. To him, It felt like you were married. It felt normal. Being near you felt right, and it was the closest thing he’d experienced to actual happiness. 

Your Sundays were usually reserved for chores, groceries and solo meal planning for the week, but you were secretly thrilled when Arthur accepted your invitation for dinner at your place. You couldn’t get him off your mind. He was a breath of fresh air in your wicked city full of equally rotten people. It had been a long time since you had experienced any emotion other than frustration, sadness and anger. You knew you felt more than lust for Arthur. You just weren't sure what that feeling was yet. 

Arthur stirred the sauce on the stove top, watching the meat embrace the tomato mixture. He did his best to help with dinner, despite not being much of a cook. He only ever made basic meals for his mother that entailed no strong flavors or technique.

Although that was something he no longer had to do anymore. 

_ Couldn't sleep, wouldn't sleep _

_ Then love came and told me I shouldn't sleep _

_ Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I _

Your humming grew louder as you continued to move to the song, lost in it. 

“Will you dance with me?”

You lifted your head to peer over your shoulder at a nervous but smiling face, eager for your response. 

“Always.” You said, smiling back. 

You set down your equipment and took Arthur’s hand. He twirled you around then pulled you close, pressing you body to his. You swayed together and moved with the song, your faces inches apart. Despite his usual introverted and unassertive demeanor, Arthur danced with such confidence that you barely recognized him. It was easy to follow him as he led. You could let your mind go. You trusted him.

_ She's a fool and don't I know it? _

_ But a fool can have her charms _

_ I'm in love and don't I show it? _

_ Like a babe in arms_

You looked up at him.

“Have you ever been in love before?” 

The question took him by surprise. He was silent for a long moment and struggled to answer. 

“I-I don’t know.” 

You could see his confidence begin to waver, his hold on you immediately feeling unsure. His face was tense, his mind probably going a million miles a minute. This was the same man who shot and killed three men on a Gotham City subway train. A killer, yet he felt embarrassed about not being in love before. None of that stopped you from wanting him anyway. You placed your lips gently on his, your hands coming up to rest on either side of his face. 

He shyly pulled your lower lip between his teeth and you let out a sigh of pleasure. Your breath was warm on his skin, and his hunger surged.

He wanted to tell you. He wanted to be able to say it so bad.

But he didn’t know how to.

He pressed himself to you, walking forward until your back was up against the counter. He pulled away only to switch off the stove and hastily clear the counter of ingredients, then he reconnected your lips. He lifted you onto the counter top, spreading your legs apart with his free hand as the other entangled in your hair. He ran his fingers along your inner thigh, savoring the feeling of your soft skin underneath his fingertips. Leaving your mouth, his lips found your neck, nipping the skin until Arthur was sure he had left bruises. His fingers found your wetness and he was thankful you had chosen that day to wear a skirt. He stroked you over your underwear. Once. Twice. Three times. 

“You’re a fucking tease, Arthur.” You groaned, leaning into his one palm cupping your cheek as the other worked between your thighs. “You act like you’re going to break me.”

You reached out and undid his pants, moving his shirt up to expose his skin. He hissed in a breath at your sudden touch, his cock immediately hard. You didn’t hesitate for a second as you slid his zipper downward and freed his erection, taking him in your hand. He had to hold his breath as you stroked him, concentrating hard on not finishing too early. He met your eyes with his; dark, passioned, bewildered. He slapped your hand away from his cock, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter and lining himself up so that he was almost inside you. Then it was like a switch had gone off in Arthur’s body. 

“Beg.” 

It was a command. 

“Please.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. 

He began to stroke himself near you entrance, using his free hand to circle your swollen sex. You were soaked. 

“Beg me.”

He could feel your heat, as badly as he wanted to fuck you, he had other plans. 

“Arthur, fuck me. Please.” A little louder now but you were still quiet, speaking in breathy gasps. He could see tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. 

_ Yes. _

He grew harder in his hand as he watched your eyes water, your vision blurring as you leaned your head back against the kitchen cabinet. You were whining, moaning, begging incoherently as he increased the pace of his fingers.

“I said fucking beg.”

“I need you, please. Arthur. Please!”

The tears fell, wetting your face, painting your cheeks so beautifully as you cried out for him. 

He lifted your hips and with a sudden rough push, he entered you. You let more tears stream down as he fucked you, hard and violently. You felt like your throat was closing up as you sobbed, nearing a climax so strong you weren't sure sure you’d be able to handle it. You dug your nails into his forearms as he held you close, clutching him as he met his need with your own. He felt you seize around him and with a few thrusts, he watched you succumb to your orgasm. You looked so beautiful when you cried.

“I love you, Arthur,” You choked out, finally opening your eyes to meet his. 

He came. Hard. 

He moaned your name, loving the sound of it on his lips with your body twined around him. 

Pulling you to him, he kissed you tenderly, making a silent promise to you. 

He would kill anyone for you. 

_Lost my heart, but what of it?_

_She is cold, I agree_

_She might laugh, but I love it_

_Although the laugh's on me_

_I'll sing to her, bring spring to her_

_And long for the day when I'll cling to her_

_Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I_


End file.
